Life Goes On
Chapter Three
By Semper Mea
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money, don't sue.
A/N: Here's Scully again, awaiting the happy reunion. It's short, I know, but I should be updating soon!
Three hours later, I'm showered, dressed, and Dylan and I are waiting to board flight 948 from Chicago straight to Washington. Dylan decided that he wanted to meet Mulder after all, and is accompanying me to Washington. That's perfectly okay with me - I hate to fly alone.
Flying with Dylan is much different than flying with Mulder. Dylan doesn't fall asleep two seconds after settling himself into the seat, and if, for some reason, he does fall asleep, his face doesn't end up in my lap. Dylan doesn't eye the stewardess the entire time he's not got his face in my lap, or ask me extraordinarily annoying questions, such as 'Do you think such and such was strangled by his own aura?" or "Do you think such and such person could have possibly traveled to the center of the Earth on the Beatles yellow submarine?" As far as I know, Dylan doesn't even listen to the Beatles, which is fine with me, because that means that he also doesn't blare it in his headphones and then promptly fall asleep with his head resting on my shoulder. Yes, Mulder had the art of 'Annoying Scully' all figured out, and he was damned good at it.
I'm also horribly nervous about touching down in my previous hometown - I haven't been back there in three years. I always meant to get back for Christmas to visit my mom, but something always came up, and it almost always had to do with Mulder. Mom, Bill, Charlie, and I all got together two years ago at Bill's house in San Diego, but the withering looks that Mom shot me every two minutes prevented me from attending the annual Scully Thanksgiving convention at Charlie's house in Seattle last year. I didn't go to Mom's house for Christmas for obvious reasons - namely, Mulder was there.
Now, I'm minutes away from touching down in Washington for the sole purpose of seeing the man I've been desperately trying to avoid. The added anxiety is not helping my fear of flying at all. My hands are clutching at the armrests of the strangely uncomfortable first class seat as Dylan eyes me cautiously. I think he knows better than to say anything, even though this is his first time on an airplane in the presence of Dana Scully.
I think this trip is going to be one hell of a rough landing.
I've decided to wait and approach Mulder on neutral territory. He's bound to be shocked and confused by my sudden reappearance, and I want him to be in a setting that he's comfortable. I can't think of a place that Mulder was more comfortable than in our office.
For tonight, though, I think it's best that Dylan and I check into a hotel. I would love nothing more than to go back to my old apartment, but it's been three years; I'm sure the landlord has sold it by now. I'd stay with my mother if I thought she'd be hospitable, but I don't think she's exactly in the welcoming mood right now. That leaves me with no other alternative.
The hotel Dylan chooses is by far better than the dozens of cheap, sleazy motels and motor inns that Mulder checked us into over the years. It's in downtown D.C. - a far ritzier area than what I could ever afford. But, on his veterinarian's salary, Dylan is able to, and more than willing to, get us the best accommodations this city has to offer. After all, he had reasoned, he'd never been here before.
Dylan went out sightseeing about an hour ago. I'm sitting here in the hotel, by myself. I tried watching tv, but I really had no desire to watch either an old rerun of The Blob or some new cheesy sci-fi television program.
I'm bored.
A/N: What? That's it? Yeah, I know, it's really short, but I'll try really hard to update within the next week. Look for Skinner next!